Sleep deprived dreaming.
You counted the shadows on the wall,
only to see that the real monster is still breathing.
You saw the red bricks drop inside suicidal minds,
only to hear the deaf people start screaming.
Tempers so loud, veins pulsating
around your neck, everyday words
have no meaning.

Just look at those rusted, old stop signs
with shot up bullet holes,
they sit on old, abused street corners near cardboard mansions of the tired and weary
and the $20 crack ******.
Your feet get red and blistered from pounding this
busted up pavement with worn out, useless soles.
You feel like you are standing softly with
a distant shovel digging up your own brittle bones.

This convoluted dream is all broken,
rotten inside spider web corridors,
empty alleyways with bicycles stolen.
You try and sleep with both eyes closed,
but the sun shines through the cracked
window panes
but it is not yet golden.
The loud whispers turned into silent screams,
can you hear me slowly falling?

I saw you beg for change on the corner
of  Western and North.
with your raggedy , torn clothes
and a lot of street sense survival.
You just held up your homemade cardboard
sign for some help, a home, and
Oh!! Thank the Lord,
your own street sense revival.
I saw the tall, gray, city people spit on you
and you just sat there
and read your raggedy, torn bible.

Why does this have to be?
People not caring for each other,
not loving each other, or not praying for peace.
So don't just walk by or drive by
and not give a ****,
like you don't really see.
Maybe that useless soul that stands on the street corner, in those raggedy, torn clothes,
is your mother, your father
your sister, your brother
or maybe it is just, just, just me.